You Left Me
by forty five
Summary: I won't leave you, even after you left me. // Zano. Yaoi. Angsty. T to be safe.


I sit here and wonder why. The rain is falling all around me and I'm staring at your broken, bloody, disfigured, scarred, dead body. I want to cry but I can't. My brain isn't working, my heart is threatening to stop, and I've forgotten how to breathe. My eyes dart and dance around; blood, blood, blood fills my eyes. Blood red as my hair. The rusty smell fills into my nose and I gag. I should be crying, screaming, bawling my eyes out. I should be screaming, asking why it was you. I can't. I can't do anything but stand and stare, eyes wide and dry. My lower lip quivers and the lump grows ever larger in the back of my throat. I can feel the bile shoving its way up and out of my stomach.

I cough and gag; my knees give out under me and I clutch my stomach, coughing up the vomit. I keep coughing, coughing. Glitter pours out of my nose, my mouth, my eyes. It burns my nostrils and makes me cough and gag more. I try to hold in the glitter, keep my life, my being inside me, but my body doesn't listen; my body convulses, trying to expel everything out of me. Glass fills my lungs, scraping against the thin membrane, killing my breathing. I wheeze and cough and gag.

My glitter continues to pour out of me. My hands, my shoulders, my legs, my lips shake and the cold rain makes my clothes stick to my skinny frame. I just want Gaia to come and take me; I'm nothing without you—you put the glitter in me. You made me the person I am, you made me something people cared for, something people wanted.

Without you I'm useless, worthless, unwanted.

I force myself to stand up, still coughing, the glitter still falling from my nose, mouth, eyes. I bite down on my quivering lip and shove my hands into my pockets. I hear them whispering; the angels, they cry, the people, they whisper. I don't dare look back at them. I look up, I see the angels, their tears morph with the rain, shimmering with glitter, brighter than mine, as they fall to the ground. I see the brilliant drops hit your skin, and I wonder if it's good or bad. I take a small step, and my legs almost give out on me again. My muscles are shaking and my lungs are falling apart, the glass digging into their delicate pieces. My teeth clack together and I shiver. The cold is getting to me.

I continue taking small steps, my legs almost giving out on me, until I'm standing barely an inch from your broken, bloody, disfigured, scarred, dead body. I stare down at you, begging, wishing, pleading that your eyes will open and you'll smile at me and croak some words of comfort and crack a joke. You don't move, don't breathe, don't smile.

"Please," the word falls out of my mouth with my glitter. I begin to shake again, worse than before, but not from the cold. I'm so upset, so scared, so needy.

"Please," the word tumbles out again.

A hand lands on my shoulder, trying to comfort me. I flinch at the contact—it's not you, not you. I don't want anyone who isn't you. I can't live without you. I can't be comforted by anyone but you. I need your voice to tell me everything is going to be okay. If it is anyone else trying to do these things, I know it's all a lie. I can't believe anyone who isn't you because you're the only one I trust with everything I've got.

I pull my shoulder out of the hand. I don't want comfort. I need you. I want you.

My knees give out under me again and my glitter pours onto your chest; it dissolves into your torn shirt, staining the violet dark, and I hope that maybe, possibly, improbably, that it will save you. If I give all my glitter, all my goodness, all my being to you, that you will live, breathe, move, smile. I need to see your eyes; I need to see your smile. I need you. I need to kiss you, hug you, love you.

"Z-Zack-k," your name stumbles past my lips brokenly and clumsily; glitter rushes out faster, hitting your chest, your body. "Don't, don't just… die."

My hands grab at your shirt, stained dark by my glitter. My fingers tangle with yours and my glitter is desperate to get out of me as I begin to cough again; my chest heaves and the glass digs into my lungs. I grip your hand; it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

I hear someone behind me whisper, "Dear Gaia, save him."

I don't know if he's speaking of me or you. I sputter and stutter and cough; more glitter escapes my lips and twinkles on your skin, your shirt, your hair. Someone sits next to me but I don't care enough to look and see who.

"Stop crying, Reno," the person next to me says softly, somberly, "I don't want to see you cry."

I reach up, touching my face, touching the glitter. It's on my fingers, but it's not glitter. It's water—tears. My lip quivers again, and the glitter—the tears—drips down onto you.

"I-I," my voice breaks, cracks, into another coughing, sputtering, crying fit. Glitter—tears—falls out like a waterfall.

"Come on," the person says, "we have to go. The Lifestream will take him."

I shake my head violently. I won't leave. I won't leave you, even after you left me.


End file.
